


Share Some Skin

by korynn



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, ass worshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korynn/pseuds/korynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's got an ass that is pretty much the most distracting thing, and those jeans he wears Do Not Help.</p><p>Patrick's going to fuel Pete's ego if he ever tells him such, but he'll be sure to spend lots of time on it once he gets it.</p><p>He doesn't really have to tell Pete, doe he? Pete's the words, anyways. And there's enough music about fine asses out in the world.</p><p>(circa Warped Tour '05; the summer of like)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Share Some Skin

**Author's Note:**

> this is for Carrie, who sent me lots of Pete's ass over twitter and I might've just snapped and wrote fic for her.
> 
> she's pretty fantastic, and i love her for it.
> 
> but oh my god i have no shame in saying this fic ran off and left me in the dust, clutching my keyboard and going "holy shit".
> 
> all mistakes are all on me, point them out if you can. kudos feed the fic writing machine.

Patrick doesn't mean to, not at first.

He's seen enough boys in girls jeans to last him a life time, and this isn't anything new, but his mouth watering at the swell of Pete's ass escaping jeans when he bends over, is not something he expected to ever happen.

The tattoos, the bare skin, he was used to ogling, had accepted that he might be a little not-straight for his bassist, but this was absurd. He was pretty sure he'd never been an ass man, or at least not a Pete's-ass man.

Hell, he's seen it before, Pete's got a problem with clothes and privacy in general.

But now he's keeping his eyes peeled for the days Pete wears his tighter pairs, the ones he doesn't wear anything underneath, the ones that somehow like to migrate low on hips so there's dimples and curves. Patrick's started to notice that he might have a problem, but he plays it off when anyone catches him, shrugs and goes "wondering when gravity will win, to be honest", like his cheeks aren't flushed and lips are raw.

Pete is completely oblivious, and starts buying more, smaller and tighter and lower on his hips, and they can't actually hold all of it in, and whoa that shouldn't make his chest tighten, but the thought is there and it does, so he gets over it.

He can't help it.

Patrick, halfway awake and completely delirious; Warped Tour's heat starting to take a toll on him, is sprawled out on a canvas and plastic lawn chair, large bottle of gatorade sweating between his thighs and hat tugged low over his eyes, when Pete pins him down, weight on knees.

"Rick Rick Ricky, gimme some of your 'ade, please?" Pawing at his thighs for the bottle and _holy shit, holy hell_ , "fuck, Pete, stop touching me."

"But I'm _hot_. See?" See actually means "feel", because Pete grabs one of Patrick's wrists, forcing him to put a hand on the skin of his bare back, feeling the heat and the slickness of sweat that isn't doing shit to help. Jesus. His pinky is actually on one of the dimples, he can feel the slight dip of it, and it's taking a lot of effort not to slide his hand down, wiggle fingers between denim and wet skin.

"Gross, dude." But he doesn't move his hand, instead laughing as Pete pouts and forces him to hold the bottle as he takes deep swigs, eyeliner all smeared to hell now that Patrick's actually tipped his head back to look. "You're like a dog, you have hands of your own, you can do this without my help."

"But it's so much easier for me to stay on you, I'd fall off if I let go." Pete's got his hands wrapped around Patrick's shoulders, and he wiggles a bit, using his shins to push Patrick's legs together, making his knees a more comfortable spot to sit.

"Liar, you lazy fucker. Go back to torturing the Ways with your squirt gun, I'm not interested in sharing sweat with you."

Pete laughs, loud and in his face, nuzzling in and dropping a big smacking kiss on the corner of his mouth. "But you swapped spit with me already, how's sweat worse?"

"Sharing my drink does not count, you'd take it either way. Go away, let me sleep and wallow in my misery alone."

Pete huffs, hands wandering to curl, grab at the back of Patrick's hair. "But I want Trick-time." He whines, wiggling and Patrick's other hand, now free of bottle-holding, grabs at his thigh, feeling the chair wobble and trying to stop Pete.

"You're gonna make this thing break, asshole, stop." The hand on his back sliding down to shove more of Pete's weight forward, off knees that already hurt. Getting a grope in, one that really isn't, at least not obviously, Patrick relishes in the feel of Pete's ass under his palm before sliding it back up to neutral territory.

But it seems that one touch gave Pete other ideas, because he just whines again, this time tugging at Patrick's hair, getting a grunt out of the singer. "Do that again."

Patrick freezes at the low tone, at Pete's wide eyes, staring for a moment. "What?" He murmurs, toes curling in the grass.

"Touch my ass again." Pete whispers, and he can see the lips forming into a "please" so he slides his hand back down, actually getting a grab in this time.

Patrick can't really say no to Pete, and this is something he wants, anyways, so no harm no foul. He'll take the teasing if this is a joke, he's not made of stone.

Pete just moans, quietly and not overdone, and that makes Patrick realize that maybe the skinny jeans weren't just a Pete-styled rebellion, that Pete has an ass thing and he wanted the attention there. 

Moving his other hand up and around, he drags Pete even closer, and shoves a hand in, fighting between fabric and sweat to get a decent grip, thumb brushing at the top of his crack and he's dripping, sweat pouring from more than just the heat now. Pushing his face into Pete's neck, mouth finds his collarbone and he just gasps against it when Pete grinds down, a laugh escaping both of them afterwards.

"Holy shit, Patrick, your hands. Dude. Perfect. But come here."

Come _where_? In his pants? He can't actually move. "What?"

"Come kiss me, you dick. If you're gonna grab my ass I'd like a little love too." Pete leans back to nudge Patrick's head up, skipping waiting for a reaction to just shove his tongue in, and wow Pete sucks at kissing.

Okay, maybe he sucks at kissing, because he's probably stunned into stupidity by now. Pete doesn't kiss him like this. Pete kisses everyone else, kisses Mikeyway the most, like this, but not _him_.

And Pete doesn't want Patrick's hands down his pants. He's probably passed out and dreaming, because _this_ doesn't happen to him.

Once he thinks that, though, he realizes if he is actually dreaming, then he has every right to enjoy himself, so he returns the kiss and bites at lips and tongue, catching on quick that Pete likes it a little rough. If the bruises and swollen lips he's seen on Pete before haven't given him enough of a hint (and wank fodder), the way he whines and ruts down against him sure helps speed things along.

Patrick's hands are now both on his skin, nails digging in and holding him in place as he grinds up, and he can only imagine how this would look if anyone caught them, can only imagine if there weren't layers between them. Which hey, sounds great right now.

"Come on, bus. Wanna see, and I'm not sharing." He grumbles into Pete's jaw, nudging him up and fixing his hat, already missing the feel of that hot skin in his hands.

Pete just laughs again, standing up and adjusting himself with no shame of Patrick's flushed face, pulling the singer up once he's got his pants fixed and stealing one last kiss.

Unfortunately, the bus isn't empty, and Pete becomes a total bitch. Even Joe is giving them a weird look, like it's somehow his fault their bassist has the emotional range of a thirteen year old girl (this time it might be, but he sure as hell isn't going to own up to it).

Laying on the couch in the lounge and laughing at Pete's pain might make him feel better about the fact they got cock blocked, but watching him throw a fit does nothing to help him with the thoughts of how it's going to be to touch that ass again, to spread it and get his mouth on it, make a mark and claim it.

He's not sure if he wants to fuck Pete or just his ass, but right now, he's not going to think to hard about either one, because there's still eyes and he can wait twenty more minutes until they get sick of Pete's attitude, his whines of "can't you go hang out in your own buses, god, I'm starting to get sick of seeing your faces every fuckin' day" chase off the other bands taking up space.

Making grabby hands at Pete as he stomps by, scaring who knows, he pulls Pete down onto him, tangling their legs together and holding Pete's head between both hands so he can whisper in the ear no one can see about his earlier thoughts, distracting him and getting a wheeze in response, enough of a pause in his bitching so he can yell out: "Off the bus or I'm gonna fuck Pete with you in here!" Which, well, seems to work, because Patrick is awesome like that. That, and they actually believe him, which, fuck, just means he hasn't been as subtle as he thought.

Oh well, Pete's making noises against his neck as he curls into him, fingers digging into the over-worn cotton of his shirt, and everyone else is stomping off the bus, Dirty and Bob practically getting stuck trying to exit the door at the same time.

"You mean it?" Pete mumbles once they're gone, shuffling off long enough to lock the door before he's back in Patrick's lap, pawing at his shirt to get at skin, and Patrick isn't as bothered by Pete seeing his pale chest as most would think, pulling it off easily and making sure his hat is back in place, grinning up at the way Pete's eyes go black and stick to him. Pete being attracted to him is not something he'll ever say no to, he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.

Pushing at the waist of Pete's jeans, Patrick gets him kneeling so he can get them off, or at least down enough there's nothing stopping him from getting his hands back on that ass, that distraction that has tortured him all summer. "You tell me, Pete. It's whatever you want, really." Still grinning when Pete moans, louder than before, and grinds against his belly, he runs a hand up that now cool back and into greasy hair, angling him for a kiss before nudging Pete back up, and back some more, so the bassist is on his back and he can pull jeans completely off. So much skin, and even if that behind is what he's really wanting his mouth on, he's had years of want build up in him over the rest of it, so he doesn't even fight the urge to lean down and run his tongue, flat and wide, over the bartskull, tasting sweat and something alcoholic, as if Pete had a drink dumped on him.

"Fuck, everyone does that. But you doing that, fuck, why's it so much hotter?"

Patrick chuckles against skin, tilting his head to look up at Pete, and shit, Pete's staring. Bangs in his eyes and a little grimy, but he's still that guy that made his teenage years a living hell, that was the only thing he got off to when still trapped at home, and now, he's a little more than that and Patrick's never really been prepared for the real thing, never expected this to happen.

"Turn over?" Whispered against a hipbone, he's already got his hands guiding Pete, gentle and so stark agains that dark skin, made even darker than before by so much sun. Running thumbs up and down his spine once he's settled, he traces his mouth over the "Crash and Burn" that's the back of his ring of thorns, bites teeth into the heart inked there, dragging his lips down and humming, adding music to the gasps Pete is letting out, muffled by one of his own forearms but rhythmic enough for Patrick. He can't help it.

Spreading cheeks apart, he knows what he wants to do is filthy, and he's never done it before, never done much of anything (oh, if he told Pete that, this would be over in .003 seconds), so he just goes with his instincts, and licks, ignoring the first jerk of shock that jumps through Pete and continuing, pulling Pete's hips up so he's on his knees, more spread, and being thankful they're both little dudes because this couch isn't a hotel bed, there's not a lot of room here, but they can fit.

He can continue to rim Pete, eat him out like all the girls Pete's tried to hook him up with have wanted him to, he knows his mouth is something of a distraction. He might be shy, but he can see his own attractiveness, has heard it enough now that he's surrounded by people without filters.

Pete, now, right now, is making more than just gasps now, and Patrick builds up more music on that, feels him shudder and finally relax into it. Moving his mouth away now, he bites at the curve of one cheek, rubs with both hands and just, wishes Pete bruised easier, that they showed more on this skin, because this is _his_ now. He's not giving this up for anything.

"Fuck yes. Yours." Pete responds, which makes Patrick realize he was thinking out loud, and if Pete's reaction had been anything else, he might've been embarrassed, but knowing that Pete wants, is okay with this, just spurs him on even more.

"What's your decision." Not said like a question, he has a feeling he already knows the answer by the way those hips are stuttering and rocking against his mouth, but he has to ask. He needs to hear Pete say it.

"Wh-what?"

"Do you want me to fuck you. Yes or no."

One of Pete's thighs spasms, and he shoves a hand underneath them, getting a tight grip around the base of his cock. Hell no, Pete's not coming yet.

"Oh, shit. Fuck. Yeah, yeah. _Please_."

The "please" gets him, just like it did before, and Patrick has to take a moment to just pause, rest his forehead against Pete's back, collect some brain cells.

"Okay, okay. Stay here. Gotta grab-"

"Yeah, go on." Pete rolls onto his side, kicking at Patrick and pushing him off the couch, forcing him to go, and he laughs a little at that, leaning in to steal a kiss that gets a fist in his shoulder, "ew, fucker" grumbled into his mouth and he's laughing as he rushes to his bunk, trying not to get too distracted by the fact he's actually gonna do this. He's going to have sex with Pete, and he never realized that just touching Pete's ass out of his own wants would lead them so fast to this.

Once again, he's not saying no. Scooping a half-full bottle of lube and a condom out of their hiding spots (lube his bunk, condoms Joe's, which he's not gonna think to hard about how he knows where they are), he's quick to return to the lounge, where Pete's fully on his back now, hand loose around his cock and another shoving two fingers into his mouth, and Patrick can see teeth digging into them. What a sight, and he drops both his finds on Pete's chest once he gets close, needing his hands free to shove off his own pants. Which gets a reaction out of Pete in both a grunt then a "no, no, lemme!" that is him reaching up to pull at the button fly himself, and whoa, okay, sure, yeah.

He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to signal that he's just dreaming, but until then, he's still gonna enjoy himself. Sure, if he is, he might be unable to even look at Pete for a while, but this is years of need building up in his system.

Pete's laugh pulls him out of his daze, along with the rough shove of both his jeans and underwear down to his feet. "You really fucking can't believe this, can you?"

"Fuck, thinking out loud again. Sorry."  _Now_ he's embarrassed, cheeks bright, but Pete just pulls him back down, shoving the bottle back into his hands as Patrick kneels over him. "Don't be, fucking turn on, knowing you were wanting me when you were illegal."

"I think a lot of kept me around was how much I wanted you, really."

"Wow, fucking shallow much?" Pete jokes, but he's digging knees into Patrick's side, bucking up. "Come on, then, lets get this going before they come back banging down the door for the xbox or someshit."

Chuckling, he just shakes his head as he pops the bottle open, raspberry flavor barely enough to mask the chemical smell, and he tries to ignore the way Pete's brows shoot up at that. "Whoa, whoa, let me taste." Pete's got one hand already in his grasp as he says it, dragging his tongue between two slicked up fingers. "Oooh, yum. I'm gonna have a sweet ass after this."

Patrick can't help laughing even more, dropping his forehead onto Pete's chest and pulling his hand away, getting his fingers nudging at Pete's ass before he second guesses himself out of doing this.

"You already do, Pete." He gets out, and shuffles them around so he's on the floor and Pete's sitting up, ass off the cushion and legs over Patrick's shoulders. Licking around fingers that are already wiggling into Pete's earlier rimming-relaxed hole, Patrick can feel the weight of Pete's stare, ignores reacting when Pete touches his hat, but Pete doesn't go to take it off, just nudges the brim more to an angle. "Want to see. Had thoughts about that mouth I'd get put in jail for even now."

Pulling away, he gives him a dirty look, scissoring to get Pete breathless before he responds. "At least you know you'd be a good bitch."

"Fu-fucker!" Ankle kicking against his back, Patrick just laughs, then moves to put his mouth on Pete's dick, knowing the last of his laughter vibrates against it, especially when hips jerk and Pete's thighs squeeze around his head. "Holy shit, holy- too much. Get up here, come on..." babbling continuing as Pete rocks some more, fingers twitching on his hat as stimulation starts to get too much, Patrick slowly pulls away, hand patting blindly for the foil square of the condom as he goes to flip Pete over.

"Oh hell no, want to face you." Digging heels in, Pete's got the condom open and is rolling it down Patrick's own cock, and it takes him that long to realize that's the first time Pete's really touched him, and its almost too much for himself.

It takes them a few moments to really find a position before Patrick even gets a chance to push in, but once Pete's ass is resting on his thighs and there's nails digging into his biceps as he finally does, he's starting to believe he might actually give Pete bruises that will show, by the way his grip keeps tightening on skinny hips, arms shaking, and maybe they hadn't prepped enough, because Pete is so tight he feels like he can't breathe.

He doesn't want to imagine what it's like on Pete's end.

Pete, who laughs and wiggles his hips down, who doesn't push his hat off even now as he pulls his head down for a kiss to muffle his whines as they start to move. "I take back everything I said about not being gay." He breathes once they get a rhythm really going, and Patrick nods, not really understanding at first. But- "But Mikey?"

"Nev-never. He's got a- no. Just kissing."

Which, huh. "Oh."

Pete smirks, and only _Pete_ could smirk while being fucked for the first time. "Were you..did you. Really think?"

"Well, yeah."

Moan shoved into his chest, Pete rocks up harder, dick trapped between them, making a mess of everything as he comes. "God, wish you had ass grabbed me sooner. Fucking... _good_."

Patrick frowns a little, playfully, at Pete's words, tucking his head down to bite at an ear. "Just good?"

"Fantastic. Glourious. Amazing. Patrick,  _golden._ "

Pete might use that term a lot in regards to Patrick, but now he really hears the meaning behind it, and he stutters, gasping, _coming_ into Pete. He feels like gold now, melting and boneless as he does.

" _My_ golden ticket."

"Not taking you to any chocolate factories." Mumbled, but Pete can hear it just fine.

"No, but I found you, hidden in an argyle wrapper. Mine." Squeezing as he says it, Patrick's dealt with enough of Pete's double meanings, his lyrics, to catch the sincerity of his words.

"Yours, yeah. Duh. Who else wants this ass anyways?" Pinching said ass, their laugher is shared in a kiss, and he might deserve the bruise on his shoulder when Pete punches him again.

"My ass is fucking perfect, dick. You sure couldn't resist."

"Yeah, no, I couldn't."

Pete just smiles, settling down and sprawling out. "Glad. Good."

Patrick closes his eyes, trying to actually enjoy the afterglow that Pete keeps talking towards ruining. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be sure not to ever again. Mine now."

Pete doesn't say anything to that, just squeezes Patrick again, knuckles brushing up and down his back.

They both know what that means, and they'll eventually say it, but not now.

Still, there's always forever.


End file.
